


Temptation Chamber

by Tish



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Banter, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Innuendo, M/M, accidental get-together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:34:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: Rescued from another fiendish trap, Napoleon's "suffering" some side-effects of THRUSH drugs. Can Illya help him?**Yes, the answer to these dumb questions is always yes.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Temptation Chamber

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AMintJulep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMintJulep/gifts).



The relief Illya felt as he opened the door to the chamber was quickly overcome by concern, then a rich amusement as Napoleon started singing to him, words slurring from his doped-up state.

“Ill-iya, Ill-iya, have you met Illya the tattooed - wait _do_ you have any tattoos? You were a sailor, you must have...but I've never noticed any,” Napoleon rambled, swivelling around in an old office chair, tightly bound by restraints.

Illya slowly approached. “Hello, Napoleon, are you okay?”

“Good, great, amazing. You look good, great, amazing. I can taste the light. I bet you taste good. And great. And amazing,” Napoleon half-sang as he swayed from side to side.

Illya gently touched Napoleon's arm, moving the sleeve up a little. “I see they injected you with something, we'll get the medics to check you out.”

“Nah, I wanna check you out,” Napoleon said cheerily with a grin and a wonky wink.

Illya's eyes sparkled with mirth as he leaned closer. “I'm probably making a mistake, but I'm going to release you now.”

Napoleon leered and nestled his head against Illya's chest, “I thought you always played hard to get, you cheeky minx.”

“You're being entirely ridiculous and I'll take great joy in reminding you later when you get back to normal,” Illya replied, trying not to laugh.

“I am entirely _norman_ , thank you,” Napoleon muttered as he nibbled at a button, his tongue finding a space between Illya's shirt and the warm flesh underneath.

Illya gasped, aroused, but didn't pull away as he unbuckled the leather straps holding Napoleon. Napoleon was still hungrily kissing Illya's chest as he suddenly launched himself bodily onto Illya, sending them both onto the chamber floor.

Flat on his back, Illya moaned as Napoleon's weight fell upon him, hands roaming over Illya's body as he growled with lust. 

“Napoleon, you're not yourself,” Illya protested, keeping his own hands flat against the floor, sorely tempted as he was to respond.

“Then who am I?” Napoleon asked, looking up in confusion.

Illya pressed a hand against his forehead. “I didn't mean that, I just meant you're not feeling yourself.”

At Napoleon's deep laugh, Illya realised he'd slipped in another unintended innuendo and groaned.

“That's not your communicator in your pocket, is it?” Napoleon's voice was less slurred now, and his hips started to grind on top of Illya's.

“Look, this isn't fair on you, you've got some THRUSH drug making you do this,” Illya gently protested. “Let's not make things harder than they should be.”

At that, Napoleon collapsed in a giggling heap over Illya, one hand grasping Illya's erection through the fabric of his trousers. “I see your point,” he managed to splutter out, before being overcome by another giggle fit.

Illya stared at the grimy ceiling, desperately calculating the volume of paint the room would need, counting the rivets along the length, _anything_ to distract him from his very inconvenient hard-on. "Napoleon, I don't know if this is genuine, or an artifact of the drug, but we can't act upon it now. If it's real, I want you to be fully in the moment, and I rather would be somewhere more comfortable. Please?”

Napoleon slowly rubbed Illya's crotch one last time, then looked into his eyes, his own gaze a little foggy still. “I'm sure I'll be ordered bed-rest. I  
hope it'll be in yours.”

He was rewarded with a smile and those brilliant blue eyes staring deep into his soul.

“Yes, Napoleon.”


End file.
